


Redliner

by orphan_account



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Dissociation, M/M, Rape, Sleep Sex, weird dream stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-02 07:57:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20272567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The effects of sleep deprivation are hitting Quentin hard and he manages to talk himself into sleeping at the camp fire. He learns the hard way that nightmares aren't as bad as reality can be, thanks to an unfortunate opportunist.





	Redliner

**Author's Note:**

> Shout-out to my boys for giving me the inspo for this.  
The first time I write anything for Quentin and I do him dirty. :(
> 
> I dunno what to say about this one, so just mind the tags and enjoy, I guess.

The world blurs. His eyes burn as he stares into the light of the fire, hoping the sensation keeps him awake. Nobody else is around to distract him. They’re all off in trials and he’s stuck trying not to fall asleep. How long has it been since he’s slept? His dreams haven’t been that bad for a while, but ever since he saw Freddy again in a trial, everything has been falling apart. He sees glimpses in the trees, feels his presence when he closes his eyes, hears his voice when he starts drifting off.

He can’t tell whether it’s real or not. Maybe he’s just imagining it all and he’s terrifying himself for no reason. It can’t be real, right? The killers can’t hurt them when they’re at the campfire. It’s safe here. Quentin takes a deep breath and repeats that sentence over and over again until his heart rate settles down. It’s fine. The light disappears from his vision as his drooping eyelids cover him in darkness. The heat of the fire is a blanket around with his shoulders. It’s frighteningly easy to fall asleep once he lets himself.

In his dream, he falls from the sky and falls into a cold lake. The impact stings his body and the water floods over him. It soaks his clothes, burns his wide eyes, fills his lungs. He can’t breath, but he doesn’t drown. Nothing happens. He just floats in the dark water, unmoving. Tentatively, Quentin closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, he’s staring at the ceiling of his old bedroom. The clock on the wall keeps ticking and ticking.

He pushes himself up, momentarily forgetting that it's not real. A warm feeling fills him as he observes all the familiar objects lining his room. Movie posters decorate the walls. Crumpled papers are scattered across his desk. Dirty laundry is piled in the corner by the laundry hamper. He moves to get out of bed, but before his feet hit the floor, fingers wrap around his wrists. They pull him back, slamming him against the mattress. When the hands momentarily disappear, bloody streaks stain his skin. 

The wallpaper starts peeling and his heart starts beating fast again. A pressure on his chest holds him down, but his skin lights up with pain. It feels like knives are raking at his back. He tries everything he can do to wake up, cursing at himself in desperation. The image of Freddy haunts him, threatening him, but the man never quite appears. Bloody hands run across his body beneath his shirt. They feel up his chest, touch his stomach, caress the grooves of his hips. A red hand reaches his inner thigh and Quentin can’t help but scream.

Quentin’s eyes shoot open, this time for real. It all still feels like a dream, though. The only thing he can hear is heavy breathing. There’s weight on top of him, a man, but he can’t make out who it is through his blurry vision and groggy mind. The hands are real. They tear off his belt, tug open his pants. Cold air bites at the exposed skin of his midriff. The gravel on the ground digs into his back. 

“Bloody ‘ell, he's wakin’ up.” David mutters.

Quentin cranes his neck up and tries to focus his vision. David is standing over him, his stiff cock hanging out of his slacks. Before Quentin can do anything, David’s hands grab him by the shoulders and rip him up off the ground. Blackness clouds him as the blood rushes out of his head, causing Quentin to fail to catch himself when David throws him onto his stomach against the log. The fall knocks the wind out of Quentin, and in the brief second it takes for him to catch his breath, David’s already taken hold of his arms and folded them behind his back. 

The reality of the situation hits Quentin and he starts yelling and kicking, but he can’t seem to shake David off. The man holds him down with too much force, too much expertise. All Quentin can do is pointlessly struggle against the pressure as David tugs Quentin’s jeans down off his hips.

“Stop strugglin' an’ it’ll be over soon, mate.” David assures him.

Panic starts building in him, suffocating his thoughts. David uses one hand to spread Quentin’s ass as he starts wetting it with the dripping head of his cock. Deathly cold shivers run up Quentin’s back as David starts introducing his dick, hips buckling forward a bit to force it in. David lets out a disgusting moan as he manages to slide in, which elicits a pained growl from his victim.

“Why?” Quentin manages, though he wishes he could’ve mustered something stronger to say. The throbbing in his head is oppressive, screaming at him to just lay down and let it happen, but he wants to fight back so bad. Tears are welling up in his eyes and he tries so hard not to let them fall down his face. He’d gotten used to the nightmares, the memories. They couldn’t hurt him, but this… His breath hitches as he holds back a sob. He digs his nails into the palms of his hands, desperate to wake up again, desperate to make this all go away.

“Shut up.” David’s fingers sink into the mess of Quentin’s hair and push his face down into the grain of the wood, scraping the skin on his face. There’s a cacophony of groaning as David pumps in and out, shoving his length in as far as he can each time. The pain pulsing through Quentin with each thrust serves as a sobering reminder that this is no dream. No matter how desperately he yearns to return to that lake, the comforting embrace of nothingness, this is real.

“Please.” Quentin chokes out, but it comes out as more of a whimper than anything else. After trying to speak, though, David lifts Quentin's head up by the hair, folding his neck back until it's hard for Quentin to even move his jaw. “Please, David, stop."

He just grins at Quentin’s words. “I know yer likin’ this, ya lil’ whore.”

What’s he to do? Quentin struggles and cries all he wants, but he can never shake free. David’s hands hold him down, press into his body, bruise his skin. The sensation is everywhere and it’s choking him, suffocating. He’s not sure if it’s the present or the memory, the dream or the reality, but it’s killing him. The only reason he's still fighting against it is so he can say he did.

Will he even tell anyone, though? Would they believe him?

“You like that?” David groans as he gives a particular heavy thrust, sharply stabbing Quentin’s insides. Breathing feels raw and vulnerable, so Quentin finds himself in a loop of holding his breath until everything feels fuzzy, at which point he gasps for air and tries to ignore all the physical stimuli until he can stop breathing again. It was so hard, though; he hated how this felt, how his body betrayed him. It shouldn’t feel good but it does. It’s a confusing paradox, one he has faced before. He’s wondered about it so many times before, whether it was on his own or in a therapist’s office.

Quentin finds himself slipping away from his own body, falling deathly still as David’s pumping slows. A gush of warmth floods into his backside but he only experiences it vicariously. He’s standing on the other side of the fire, staring at the sad and hollow remains of his body. David pulls out, leaving longs trails of cum. The hot semen runs down Quentin’s legs. It burns, but Quentin just closes his eyes and tries to pretend he can't feel it. The stiffness of his own dick is infuriating, making him shake and writhe in his own skin. His nose is running, eyes watering, as David laughs at him. The laughter gets fainter and fainter, though, disappearing into the distance. The trees swallow the sound until there's nothing left.

_ Monster. You’re a monster, David, a wolf among sheep. _

It’s a long time before Quentin can still his shaking breath. He slowly pushes himself up off the log and glances around at his surroundings. His knees shake as he pulls up his pants and pulls his jacket close. The slicks of coagulated semen on his legs barely draw his attention. With David's haunting figure having disappeared, Quentin just sinks down in front of the fire and pulls his knees close.

The edge of consciousness beckons him, daring him to take the plunge again, but Quentin just stares into the crackling fire until dots fill his vision. He doesn’t dare risk falling asleep again, even if his mind is falling apart more and more with every second that passes. The dull ache in the pit of his stomach serves as a reminder of his mistake. Maybe it wasn’t real. Maybe it was just a sick joke by Freddy, intended to turn him against his fellow survivors, or maybe it was just a terrifying nightmare produced by his own mind, but Quentin realizes it doesn’t particularly matter whether it was just a dream or not. He was wrong to let himself feel safe.

Quentin buries his face into his knees and prays the tears don’t rock him to sleep.


End file.
